Love is Strange
by drollicpixie
Summary: "Kyle," I managed to splutter. However, by opening my mouth, I only gave him an invitation to invade it with his tongue. The scene where Zoe finds Alicia and then Kyle finds Zoe, extended. What happened after her scream? Can be read as a prequel to my earlier stories, Be My Frankenstein and Monster in Her Heart. But it was written as a stand-alone piece. Zoe/Kyle!


A/N – The scene where Zoe finds Alicia and then Kyle finds Zoe, extended. And while Zoe's guilt over the situation is (really) unwarranted, she doesn't know that, or what Kyle had endured at the hands of his mother, so she feels it. Thank you. I hope you enjoy. (And I hope something like this happens next week in the show!)

This story could be read as a prequel to my earlier stories, Be My Frankenstein and Monster in Her Heart. But it was written as a stand-alone piece. It fits but unintentionally.

Disclaimer - I do not own any part of American Horror Story. Only this little fic is mine.

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God, it was a horror show. A gruesome display laid out there, on the floor, before me. Alicia, at least I assumed it was her, was splayed, limbs twisted, body like a ragdoll. But her face was gone. In its place was a mess of gore: blood, pulp, white fragments of bone or cartilage. Hair matted to what remained of her skull.

And I just stared, immobile, frozen where I stood between the room and the hall. What the fuck had happened? Had Kyle, but even as I thought it my stomach rebelled, unwilling. A burning, gagging sensation rose up my throat, lodging there, making it near impossible for me to swallow. I felt my eyes water, my nose run. I sniffed, sniveled, gaze locked on the body.

Willing my legs or arms to move did nothing. They remained firmly in place. Only my heart seemed to continue functioning but even it couldn't do it properly. Instead it was flying, pounding against my ribs, trying to escape. At least some part of me understood the necessity of getting away.

A board creaked behind me and the air in the room shifted. My right calf spasmed lightly, twitching, coming to life and urging me to move. But the rest of my body was slow to the uptake and all I managed was to whirl around, coming face to face with the blood splattered visage of Kyle.

It soaked his shirt, his fucking chest. It ran down his cheeks and over his eyes. His hair was caked with it. I gasped, inhaled, and let out a scream. A gore smattered trophy remained clutched in his grip.

With a tremble, my knees went weak, knocking together, as my hands rose up to cover my face, a sob slipping past my lips. "Your mother," I whispered, then, "this is all my fault. I should never," I choked, lips wet, tears dripping down from my chin.

For one terrible instant I thought, almost said, "…have brought you back." And I meant to life, not to his former home. But I didn't. Nan was right. I did like him. Too much. God, it hurt to even think of him, my body aching with the want of him, the desire. I had tried and failed to feel guilt over the spell. I was a selfish creature. Kyle deserved better than a half-life, especially one with someone like me.

Instead I groaned, "…have left you here alone. I should have listened to Misty." I shook my head, lowered my hands so that I could see him, "You weren't ready. I rushed you. I am so sorry, Kyle." I turned my head slightly, glancing down at Alicia once more, "I did this," I whispered, heard him take a step forward. "Not you."

Kyle was lost, confused, and I carelessly tossed him into a new situation, abandoning him at the door, like some stray. If I had stayed, held him, remained close. Fuck, if I had given her any kind of warning. Maybe she would still be alive. How had I been so naïve?

With I sigh, I knew. I had always been naïve, weak, just like Fiona said. She had seen it in me from the beginning, what I was, but I had been foolish, disregarding her as callas. But no more. I would take responsibility, protect my coven, protect what was mine, from then on. And Kyle was mine.

"It's okay," I breathed, looking up into his onyx colored eyes, so wide and distraught, as they burned a path straight through me.

He shifted, moving closer, head cocked. I wanted to be gentle, soothing, treat him like a wounded, wild animal. I immediately felt bad over the analogy but in so many ways it was the closest thing I could compare him to. I had no idea how he would react, if he would bite me, or nudge against my hand looking for comfort. Figuratively speaking.

"Come here." I tried lifting my lips, giving him a small, weak smile. And he grunted in response. His steps were more fluid, he held his head up. His weapon fell to the floor with a thud as my eyes watched it.

When he arrived before me, standing like a statue, I let my fingers trace along his cheek, over his dark brow, and up into his hair, pushing it back and away from his forehead. Kyle leaned into me, bowing his head and allowing me better access. "Shhh," I hushed, my voice calm and low, as if I were speaking to a baby, a tiny child, and he crumbled.

He dropped to his knees, arms encircling my hips as his tacky, red face pressed into my stomach. He wept, bitter tears, his shoulders shaking and hunching forward. I felt his lips on me, against my shirt, moving, but he said nothing. I let him get it out, stroking his face, his hair, making small, comforting sounds.

When he seemed done, his racking sobs morphing into long, hiccupping breaths, I place my hands under his arms and urged him to stand. "It's okay, Kyle," I said again, the tips of my index and middle fingers ghosting over one sharp cheekbone, smearing the damp blood on his face. "I'm here," I told him as he watched me, lids lowered, mouth gapping open just a little, "and I'm not going to leave you again, okay?" No response. "Do you hear me, Kyle?" I focused my gaze on his, trying to pour all of the truth of my statement into him, from my soul to his. "It's you and me now. I'm not going anywhere with out you." A weak little noise emerged from him, something sad and broken, but hopeful.

I would clean him up: bath him, get the blood off of his body, out of his hair, find him new clothes, pack him a bag, and make a place for him at Miss Robichaux's. They would have to understand. My need to keep him, to have him. That he was mine and my responsibility. And if they didn't, we would leave, find somewhere else. We could return to Misty's, crash with her, for awhile if needs be.

Having a plan, even with so many holes and variables, improved my mood, my spirit. I nodded at him once more. "Okay," and with a smile I reached out, questing fingers diverging on the remained buttons still attached to the bottom of his shirt. "Now, let's get you out…"

But I never got the chance to finish my sentence, my thought, which was to divest him of his blood soaked clothes and get him into the shower. Kyle surged forward, sticky hands grabbing my face, as his lips plowed into mine.

"Kyle," I managed to splutter. However, by opening my mouth, I only gave him an invitation to invade it with his tongue. I wanted to protest, even going so far as to place my hands roughly against his chest, intending to push him away. But his sigh, his tiny groan of pleasure, halted my movements and instead I found myself melting into him, forgetting everything else.

His lips were so soft, lush and full as they slipped and slid over my own. Our bodies crashed together, him clutching me, hands gripping my hips, holding me, even as he took a step forward, backing me up. "Wait," I gasped, remembering Alicia on the floor, or what was left of her. Kyle ignored my plea as I stumbled over her prostrate form and fell backwards onto his messy bed.

The boy, my boy, landed with me, stroking my sides first over my blouse and then under on his second pass. "Oh, god," I groaned, "we can't," but it came out breathy and wrong. The returning grunt told me as much as our hips aligned and Kyle rocked forward into me. And part of my mind flickered to life. He really was a working, functioning guy. At least Madison and I hadn't fucked that part up. And almost as quickly I remembered my affliction, the exact reason why no one, especially not Kyle, could have that, this, with me. Ever. And I wanted to cry.

Instead, I stilled beneath him, stopped my writhing, and placed a cupped palm on his face. "Kyle," his blurry eyes found my own, wide and animal, and then softening with something that I might have called love, devotion. I leaned up, let my lips brush his once more, and told him, "we need to get you cleaned up. We need to," I thought about his mother, shuddered at our proximity, how wantonly I had behaved with her son, over her fucking corpse. "get your things and go home."

His chest stilled, breath held, as he studied me with rapt attention. "To my home," then I amended, "our home," still no change in his expression. "So I can be with you, take care of you," I nodded, hoping he understood. "I'm going to fix this, Kyle. I'm going to make you better, you'll see."

With that he pulled back, a weak grin on his pale, beautiful face. He helped me to stand and when he saw me looking down, staring, once more shocked and horrified by the collapsed human skull on the floor, he reached out his arms, putting them around my waist, and lifted me over the body, turning me away from it.

"Thank you," I breathed against his neck, lip trembling as my guilt over the situation rose once more.

I expected to be deposited immediately on the other side but Kyle refused to put me down. He was remarkably steady on his feet and I felt some pride in his accomplishment. And then he was spinning awkwardly around, holding me against his chest, making sounds, like words but without meaning behind them: grunts, murmurs, a breathy sigh. And before I could stop myself I let out a small burst of laughter. When our eyes caught his was definitely grinning.


End file.
